


The waiting game

by mrua7



Series: Strange, scary stories and the Man from U.N.C.L.E. [23]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen, Halloween, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-27
Updated: 2015-10-27
Packaged: 2018-04-28 12:28:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5090747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrua7/pseuds/mrua7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Napoleon and Illya have yet another a strange experience while on a stakeout.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The waiting game

**Author's Note:**

  * For [girlintheglen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlintheglen/gifts).



> Originally posted for the LJ Scrapbook Halloween Challenge 2015

 The prompt:

 

The waiting game

 

It was getting really uncomfortable in his hiding place, and he had an itch for the last half hour that was driving him crazy, but he couldn’t scratch it lest someone see him move.

 A fair few hours gone by since Illya Kuryakin had set himself up in his hiding place just inside the old cemetery, purported to be the location of a courier drop.

Intel on THRUSH chatter had been very specific, indicating the exact location and time, but so far nothing had happened.

 

There was something in the air, perhaps the smell of old death as this particular necropolis dated back to the 1800’s...not old, but old enough.

 

The winds fluttered among the remaining leaves on the trees, sending those fallen to the ground scuttling like strange a sea of creatures across the graves.

 

The time was nearing to end this as the courier seemed to be a no show and as if on time, Kuryakin’s communicator chirped its call.

 

“Yes Napoleon.” Illya monotoned.

 

“Don’t you think we should just call it a day tovarisch? I’m getting a really bad crick in my back, and I’m sure you’re hungry.”

 

“I am stiff too, and yes I was afraid the rumblings in my stomach could be heard...you did not hear them, did you?”

 

“No,” Solo chuckled.”They’re not that loud. I can see you but I couldn’t hear you at all.”

 

“Yet,” Illya added.”Wait, you can see me?”

 

“Yes, you did move around a bit too much for it not to be noticeable. I hope you didn’t scare the courier away?”

 

“Napoleon I have not moved a muscle since I settled in. I swear.”

 

“Illya I can see you moving right now.”

 

“I am not moving!” He hissed.

 

“Fine, you’re not moving. Just stand up and I’ll wave to you so you can see how close I am to you.”

 

Kuryakin slowly rose from his hiding place, turning his head left and right while looking for the American. He finally spun around a full 360˚ but saw no sign of his partner.

 

“Napoleon I am standing up; do you see me?”

 

“No you’re not, you’re pulling my leg; I’m standing right in front of you.”

 

“What are you looking at?” Illya crept up beside Solo, whispering to him and watched as the American nearly jumped out of his skin.

 

“What the?” Napoleon blurted out. “If that’s not you,” he pointed at an eerily cloaked figure seated in front of him,”then who is it?”

 

“It is a statue and you have let your imagination get the better of you my friend.” Illya stepped forward, rapping on the bronze statue with his knuckles, eliciting a hollow empty sound from within it.

 

“Well being in a creepy cemetery doesn’t help the imagination does it? Especially since it’s Halloween.” Napoleon looked rather embarrassed.

 

Illya shrugged his indifference as his priorities had changed. “Food would be good right about now.”

 

“Oh well let’s chalk this uneventful evening up to bad intelligence. My treat; there’s a diner just outside of town.”

 

They suddenly heard a creak, like metal moved against metal. When they turned, the statue was now in a standing position.

 

A bodiless voice filled the air. “Don’t go to the diner...the food’s a killer. I should know.”

 

Napoleon and Illya took one look at each other, turned heel and ran as quickly as they could to their car parked in a discreet area outside the cemetery.

 

Kuryakin dove into the driver’s seat of the silver convertible, started it and hit the gas just as Napoleon barely threw himself into the passenger seat.

 

There was a trail of dust and detritus flying in the air behind the car as Illya slammed on the gas pedal.

 

Once they were several miles away, Solo finally spoke up.

 

“That didn’t happen; it was just our imaginations, right?”

 

“Whatever you say Napoleon. You will hear no arguments from me. My lips as you say, are sealed.”

 

“Still hungry?”

 

“No. I seemed to have lost my appetite.”

  
“Hmm, now that is something scary,”Napoleon snickered.


End file.
